Wade
by seeyoustandingthere
Summary: GSR.. how I imagine it might have unfolded..assuming Play With Fire came much later...


DISCLAIMER: Of course they're not mine, they belong to CBS.

These words, though are copyright seeyoustandingthere 2007.

**Wade In The Water**

The fan was whirring, white noise saving the moment from a tumbleweed treatment, and she was glad of it. Her neck, there on the line, felt cold, and she wondered why she had ventured so much when she knew that nothing would be gained. Did she know before she spoke what he would say? Was she sure that he would run, metaphorically scuttling away into the recesses of his job, her job, all the reasons why they shouldn't?

Logically, of course, she did. But still, after all these years, there was a part of her that willed him to overcome. Join me, won't you, out here on this limb.

Sometimes, as the breath rose sharply in her throat and the words stuck, she wondered what it was she was trying to achieve. They already had a history, an archive of chequered and beautiful images that she lost herself in, alone, when he ought to have been there. It was a deep and dark file that she worked alone. Or so she thought. Sara was tired, consumed, but thrilled. The chase they had lead each other on was exquisite, the moments inimitable, and often she felt that she would be content to continue on their path of most resistance indefinitely, such was the rush it brought.

Not today. A brush with serious injury, and things had come crashing into perspective. The sight of him, coming to her aid, when all around them was in chaos, refused to leave her. She had not missed the look in his eyes. Fear, for her, and for that split second she had seen something new, a raw, sensory reaction. As he had bent to help her, taken her hand, and used a word she knew he wasn't used to. _Honey._ She wanted to know who else in his life he had ever had cause to say that to. His tone had been soft, the word part accident, part admission, something he had always meant for her to be, maybe, but hadn't meant to say out loud. He had shown compassion and been a good boss, and she had gone with the paramedic as he instructed. But as soon as the doors of the ambulance shut behind her, a hollow feeling spread. She wished for him, and it was all she could do on being released later that day not to go back to work.

So here they were, a day later, as the lab closed down for the evening. Some kind of normality had resumed, but for the faint smell in the air, and Sara couldn't be sure that wasn't lodged in her own nostrils, keen as all her senses were to retain the atmosphere of the day before. She could still feel his hand holding hers, turning her palm up for inspection. Those same two hands were in the same room, in proximity once again, and she looked to his, silently willing it to come to rest somewhere about her. They were twelve feet and a desk apart. Then six feet. Four. He had not answered her question, but she in no way regretted asking it. He would say no, she knew, but she wasn't looking for a yes, she was looking for something greater, a shift in him, a chink in his armour that would give her the sign she needed.

After years of tiptoeing and sidestepping, enjoying the slow burn of the dusky tango they danced, she knew the game had stepped up a notch. They had subtly and expertly avoided all culminations of their affection, fearing the very words they would have to say, the decisions they would have to make. Their fears were not unfounded. She had if nothing always known that if it ever came to be, it would be something fundamentally groundbreaking, something wholly compelling. What they had was electric, what they hinted at was granite. Suddenly, having been content to throw the occasional loaded comment and seek the thrill it caused when his eyes widened or that small smile crept unwittingly across his face, she wanted more. Suddenly, the idea of sharing an evening with the man seemed breathtaking, and possible. A barrier breached, she thought, they were on a different track.

"No." he said. She nodded, knowing he would never expect her to fight back. She surprised herself by arguing their case, those few important words that gave him no room to doubt but no cause to panic. To see what might happen, so innocent and so provocative. He sighed, shifted his position and closed in. Three feet.

"Sara.." She fixed him with a look that she knew affected him. She dared him to look away, to say otherwise. _Come on_, she thought. _Step up_.

He couldn't. To see her standing there, wanting more from him, sent a chill down his spine that he knew he would be still feeling tomorrow. This close, he could see everything about her that he rarely, but gloriously, allowed himself to take in. The way her hip curved beneath her jacket. The way her badge sat, pinned to the waistband of her trousers, and how that looked. He knew how it would move with her if she moved. Her slim fingers, still, by her sides. As though he had never imagined those perfect hands on him, in his. As though he had never pictured that jacket sliding from those strong shoulders somewhere other than here. She was his height, and faced him as an equal, a force field he couldn't begin to negotiate. Those three feet that separated them, that had always been between them. As though he had never imagined how it would feel to cross that canyon.

She didn't look to be shaking, but he felt sure that she must be. Inside, he quaked, with anticipation that he fought to subdue. Here they were again. How many times, now? What he wanted, more than to give her what he felt sure she wanted, was for her to know how desperately and achingly he wanted it too. He knew he was cold, and he knew that she saw through him. She was piercing, and he knew that their dance was almost over, he could see that she was done letting him lead. She was strong, and sure, and it floored him.

She said what she had come to say, and she watched it sink in. He parted his lips as though to stop her as she closed her hand around the door handle. She knew she would leave without another word said, and she wasn't unhappy to. If he would not submit, as she wanted to, to what plagued them, she hoped he might at least feel something akin to regret at having passed it up. _It really might be too late._ His eyes met hers as she opened the door. The bridge he was beginning to burn began to smoke silently in the air between them. _Your choice_, she thought. _Last chance_, she thought, knowing as she did that for him there was no such thing.

He wanted to stop her, and as usual felt both glad and frustrated that their scenes were inevitably played out in the wrong circumstances. Had this been his hallway or her parking lot, things might have ended differently. Had this been that, his guard may have been down. As it was, where she was concerned, his walls were perpetually up, for, he thought, their mutual preservation. Deep down he knew it was for him. He knew she had climbed the mountain, and he was lagging behind. He also knew that he was comfortable with this, with an internal universe where she knew how he felt, and where she reigned. With catching himself off guard in less focused moments as she rose in his mind, running her hands through his hair and down his chest with feverish urgency. He knew instinctively what the sensation of her hair on his skin would be like. He knew, too, that he was leaving it too late, that he had been doing so all along, but what else could he do?

Sara closed the door behind her, feeling the small rush of air as it clicked into the frame. She waited not one moment in the hall. She knew he would not come after her, and he did not. She went to her locker, collected her things. Outside it was warm and dark, just the way she liked it. The night enveloped her as she walked to her truck, and she welcomed it. Nights like this reminded her of home, of the almost imperceptible differences in climate between San Fran and Vegas. She knew the difference, and she welcomed the familiarity of the night as she started the engine and shifted the truck into gear. She took one last look at the door, confident that he would not be there, and he was not. She swung quickly out of the lot and drove, slightly faster than she needed to, enjoying the rush of warm night air through the open window.

Grissom watched her walk away. He always did, when he could be sure she wouldn't look back. He saw her run a hand through her hair and his stomach flipped. He slowly shut the blind on his office door and turned out the overhead light. By the sole glow of his desk lamp, he sat down, leaning back in his well-worn leather chair, inviting the moment to leave him. It did not. His head was hazy, spinning with thoughts of her, of all the things she said and all the things she didn't say because she was afraid of his reaction. He knew if he asked she would say it all, and it would slay him. How he longed, inwardly, to lay them both bare. To be the first to speak, to disentangle what he wanted to say from the thick forest inside. To decode it for Sara. He longed to look at her and just have her know. Have it conveyed silently. That she might know, and he might give her the ultimate sign, the certainty, to move forward, to take him by the hand, because God knows, where she walked, he stumbled.

She thought she was going home. She headed that way, but she took a longer route, surreptitiously driving herself one block closer to his street than she had to. It added a few minutes to her journey, and sent a small current through her as she swung out of an intersection, knowing exactly how far to her West his apartment was. Her stomach dropped a little as she went over in her mind what they had said. What he had not said, what he had put paid to, what would probably never move out of the shadows no matter how beautiful it would prove to be under the light of day.

He sat a while longer at his desk, letting a pen dangle aimlessly between his fingers. There was a backlog of paperwork, as usual, but he would not attend to it tonight. Before he turned the light out to leave he looked at the doorway and could still see her there, the way she leant her hip against the frame, her head at a slight angle. He felt that she was always watching him, even now, when he had heard her turn too quickly out of the parking lot. He could have gone after her, but he knew not what to say. In the beginning, he had tried putting her out of her misery, pretending he didn't feel anything, lying to them both to avoid complications. He felt it was his duty to deflect, as he had done tonight. Then it had been a relief, a narrow escape. Today it felt cheap, and try as he might, he couldn't shake what it had made her say. He felt out of control, and he knew that she was seeping in. It made him sick with fear, and it made him smile. He picked up his keys and made the slow walk to the parking lot. He got in his car, aware that he felt less inclined to be here now that she was not. Frustrated by this, determined to win himself over, regain control, he headed for home.

Sara's headlights cut a path across the honeysuckle that grew tumultuously over and down the wall which surrounded the apartment gardens. They were in bloom, and she could smell the sweet blossom through the warm night as she swung into a parking space. They would be on the ground, in the hall, dragged further and further in with each pair of feet. She would smell it when she woke up in the morning. She took the keys out of the ignition and opened the door.

"Hey." She stopped, raised her eyes slowly. She hadn't even seen his car. She had parked alongside it. Their mirrors were almost touching. Inches and steel between them. Grissom was looking straight ahead, not at her. His window was down and his shirt sleeves rolled up. "Hey," she returned, and swallowing the lump that rose. He looked over, and she looked away. She let the engine die out, and got out of the truck.

He had not made it home. He had come here, and he wasn't sure why. He hadn't expected to see her in the lot, had thought he would have the opportunity to change his mind before she would ever know he was there. That shattered, he took a breath and got out of the car.

She walked around the front of the truck, treading on fallen honeysuckle. He stood with his back to his car, leaning against the door as though preventing himself from jumping back in for a quick exit. She leant against hers, the warmth inching up her back, and waited. But four feet between them, under cover of darkness, and so much to say, their favourite game was afoot.

He looked at her. He wished he hadn't. She choked him. Her eyes bore down, alive with the possibilities of a new scenario. A small gulf to be crossed and no-man's land in between. No lab, no work, no one.

She looked up at the night sky, thought of home, of how no one she had ever known had come close. She could hear her heart racing.

"I don't know what to do about this." He said, unsure what else to say, but knowing he had to say _something_.

"You said that earlier."

"I'm no wiser now."

Three sentences uttered, they both looked away, immediate relief flooding in. She took a breath. He ran a hand through his already ruffled hair.

"So why are you here?"

"I wanted to see you."

These words shot right into Sara's chest. She was glad of the solid mass of the truck behind her, holding her upright. She couldn't stop her gaze from flicking sharply upwards. It met his, and time stood still.

"What are you afraid of?" She whispered it, not taking her eyes from him.

_Everything_, he thought. You, me, this, all of it. The size of it, the sheer scale of it, the promise and the threat of it, the bravery and the stupidity of it, the long and the short of it, every inch of you and how that would change me.

He didn't answer. She took a step towards him, and his face betrayed his alarm. "Of me?" He shook his head, slowly, and she slid her hand just an inch into his. He didn't move, his fingers remaining lax beneath hers.

It was all he could do not to shake. Her touch, so cool, so simple, he could hardly believe it had been there all along and he had managed to get through so many days without it. He wrestled with himself, knowing he was losing.

"Sara –," His tone was sharper, a reminder of the decorum that used to exist, of the authority he held, of the distance between them that she was trampling all over. She turned her face away.

"I don't want to disappoint you," He said, and she knew then that he would. That again he was going to cut and run, back to his desk and his walled world in which she was just one that got away.

"Right",she said, flinging his hand clear of hers. The frustration mounted, and she shook her head gently. "But you're going to. You're going to get back in that car and leave. " She went to move away, and he stepped forward. She held up her hands. "It's okay. I know. Just….go." Without a word he turned, opened the car door. Sara felt her eyes threaten to fill, wanted to walk away, just evict this moment from her warm San Fran evening. The smell of the honeysuckle suddenly became unbearable. She turned to go.

He called her name, and he felt it reverberate in his throat. A four lettered world. That those letters might make her up, that just one small word stood for so much. He saw the tear on her cheek, and he wanted to feel it on his skin. He saw that he had stripped her down, and he knew that enough was enough.

"Sara." She whipped around, one tear stinging her cheek, and she didn't care if he knew. She wanted him to see, wanted him to know what he did to her. That he had her, that he made her cry, that he made her whole, that he was everything, and nothing, and that it hurt.

He wasn't in the car. He opened her hand and dropped into it his car keys. She felt the metal cross her palm but it took a moment to process what had happened. She let herself look at him, and she saw that he was afraid. He looked open, unfettered, vulnerable, and she wanted to take him into her arms, press every part of her against some part of him, feel him and breathe him and finally feel right. She didn't. Instead, trembling, she pocketed the keys and walked away.

This time Sara knew he would follow her. She unlatched the gate into the darkened gardens and left it open behind her. She found the low stone wall, sat down, feeling the keys dig in as she did. She barely had chance to look up, and he was standing over her.

This time, he did not think. He reached down and took her hand, one, then the other. Not allowing himself a moment to register that tiny thrill, he pulled her to her feet.

Sara stood, feeling a rush of warm air as the feet between them disappeared. Four, three, two, one. The last few inches evaporated as he tentatively put a hand around her waist. She could hear him breathing, hard. She couldn't stop herself placing a hand on his chest, feeling the beat therein. And then, she didn't know how, but her face was next to his, brushing his neck.

Her face was nestled in his neck, her breath warm on his skin, closer than they had ever been, and he was letting go. Abandon flooding in, he let his face stretch into a smile, and, the fight lost, gathered her in. Tight. Every nerve ending in his body reacted, crying out for her to be closer, closer even than she was.

Sara reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck, her embrace just as strong and unconditional as his. She pulled him to her like her lungs pulled in the sweet night air, making a connection that had been so long a near miss.

"I can't keep doing this." She said, into his jacket. "I need to know where I stand." His chest sighed heavily beneath her, making her cheek rise and fall with it. She was hot where his hands held her, strong arms holding her close and breathless.

"I know, "he replied. For the first time he felt the long imagined weight of her against him. Inches of her were against him, teasing nerve endings he had never known were there. The moment was real, immediately superimposed over all of his previously imagined ones. They were real, it was happening, and the sky was not crashing down around them. Their bodies were allied, fighting silently for the moment to defeat the mind.

He leant in closer, gathering her up again, his arms beneath hers, pulling her face up to his. Her lips, an inch away from his now, parted involuntarily at the movement. A small sound escaped, and knocked him sideways. Their proximity was electric, and he found it hard to imagine ever letting her go. He said nothing, and kissed her, a soft, slow thrill, wading deeper and deeper into the water, as she breathed life into him, sure at last that he could sink and he would live, and sure at last that he would love her.


End file.
